


The Word: Fated Death

by Nicathor



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, predetermined death, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:11:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicathor/pseuds/Nicathor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon with Teen Wolf up to 3B, but with a twist:</p>
<p>All through human history there has been the Word. A warning and an apology from the universe to a person about to die before their time.</p>
<p>Stiles is driving home from an epic hangout day with Derek, because yeah, their friends now. Like, really good friends. Amazing what surviving a Nogitsune will do to your social circle. He's actually feeling happier than he has in months- no years. So of course, that's when he sees it. The Word. On a damn passing metro bus.</p>
<p>"You gotta be fucking kidding me"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Good Things Must End

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is my first fic, so go easy on me. I'm a pretty slow writer so this may take some time to finish, but I know how it's gonna end.
> 
> I want this fic to be in the 30k range, but this first chapter took a lot out of me and is only like 2k so... it'll be as long as it ends up being :)
> 
> Stay tuned for more if you like it!

It’s a beautiful, sunny summer day and Stiles is feeling great. The late afternoon sun casts a warm golden glow on the trees and buildings of Beacon Hills as he drives home from a full day Netflix and Xbox at Derek’s loft.

Hanging out with Derek. Being _friends_ with Derek. Stiles still wasn’t used to that.

It’s been six months since the final showdown with the Nogitsune at BHHS, and five months since Stiles crumbled from the anguish of all the damage it caused through him. Broken, and painfully depressed he found himself at Derek’s door one night, begging him to take away the pain. He spent the next two hours sobbing into Derek’s shoulder as he held him, only slightly awkwardly, and let him get it all out. Stiles eventually cried himself to sleep, and when he woke the next morning on Derek’s couch, it was to the smell of pancakes. Pancakes!

The rest of the day was a roller-coaster of emotion as he and Derek simply sat down and talked.

They talked for hours. About their guilts and fears; about the past two years of supernatural mayhem. When Stiles admitted he remembered everything he did as the Nogitsune, he broke again. He blamed himself for every death. He could barely even look at Scott anymore, not after he killed Allison.

Then Derek surprised him (again) by telling him with more force and conviction than he’d ever seen Derek speak with before, how absolutely not responsible he was for everything that happened. He then went on to tell Stiles everything that happened with Kate; the seduction, the sneaking around, the secrets, and ultimately, the murder of his family. By the end of it Derek’s face was wet with tears and his voice raw with emotion. It was a side of Derek Stiles had never seen. He was starting to think he simply had no emotions other than anger.

“It’s my fault,” he had whispered. “I killed them.”

“Like Hell you did,” Stiles replied. “She took advantage of you. _She_ killed your family. You are as much a victim as them.” There was no doubt in Stiles’ mind that what he said was truth. He was determined to make Derek understand that.

“If you truly believe that, then you can’t blame yourself either.” Derek said, voice suddenly much firmer, his eyes locked with Stiles’ own. “If I’m innocent of the events caused by my own free will, then you are innocent of those taken against yours. To blame yourself is to declare me guilty of killing my family, Stiles.”

Stiles was dumbfounded. He knew without a doubt that Derek could not be blamed for their deaths, but he couldn’t not blame himself. His mind battled itself for what felt like an eternity before finally Derek’s argument won out. It was as if suddenly the world became a little warmer, and Stiles didn’t feel so terrible anymore. By the end of the day they were both exhausted, mentally and physically, but both felt better, if only a little.

They bonded over their shared grief and self-blame, helping each other heal. Stiles forced Derek to buy a TV, the Xbox, and get a Netflix account, and before long Derek’s loft was the go to place for everyone to hangout. But Stiles was there more than anyone else and before knew it he was as close to Derek as he was to Scott, maybe even closer. As much as Stiles loves Scott, his brother in all but blood, he’s not sure he’d have been able to pull through it all without Derek. The five month old, partially written suicide note that only one of the two knows about attests to as much. Now he keeps it as a reminder to himself of how far he’s come these few months.

In fact, everything has greatly improved. Chris and Isaac came back from wherever they went with the trapped Nogitsune, looking for an intents and purposes like a father and son. Ethan and Danny got back together, with both officially joining the pack. Scott and Kira danced around each other for nearly three months before Scott finally just kissed her in the hall and ran away. And miracle of miracles, Beacon Hills hasn’t had a supernatural incident since the Nogitsune. Apparently, eliminating a Kanima, an Alpha pack, and a 1,000 year old trickster demon while in high school will earn you a reputation. Also, Stiles is pretty sure his dad and Melissa McCall have started seeing each other in secret, and he’s surprisingly ok with that. But, make no mistake, he will give his dad Hell for thinking he could hide it from Stiles.

All things considered, Stiles is happier, and more stress-free than he’s been since the night Scott was bitten. He’d almost forgotten what peace felt like.

So of course that means it all had to come crashing down.

He’s just a few blocks from home when he sees it. The _Word_. An absolute and unequivocal sign from the universe that you are about to die before your time.

For as long as there has been language, there has been a _Word_. It changes with the time period, but the gist is always the same, a freaking one word apology, and currently it’s _Sorry_. For several hundred years it was literally _Apologies_ , but at the conclusion of World War II it switched. Obviously, speaking the _Word_ is highly taboo, and writing it is outright illegal. So when a change happens it causes a rapid evolution in language all its own. Libraries went crazy when the change happened, censoring some books or simply plastering the cover with a bright yellow sticker declaring “CAUTION: This book contains the Word!” _Apologies_ was quickly reclaimed and altered to replace sorry; the new term morphing several times before solidifying with _Apollo_ being used anytime someone would normally say sorry.

The bizarre part (or one anyway) is that the _Word_ isn’t in the viewer’s native tongue, but that of the dominant language in the region. This was all well and good for small, isolated civilizations of old, but in densely packed and diverse areas like medieval Europe, the language of _Word_ at any given time was used to determine which nation was the dominant power. Globalization was a watershed development, as suddenly the whole world was connected, and thus the _Word_ appeared all over the globe in just one language: English. Americans of course revel in the fact that it appears in English, though there have been rumors of people starting to see it in Mandarin, but history has shown it doesn’t two at once while power shifts, it’s a sudden change when it happens.

There are many theories as to why the _Word_ exists, aliens being a popular one. But the two leading beliefs are that either God taking pity and warning you before the Devil strikes you down, or the Universe is simply kind, and is giving you time to say your goodbyes. Stiles believes the second, though aliens would be awesome!

The _Word_ can appear to anyone, but doesn’t appear to everyone. Only those who die an unnatural, unplanned death (meaning suicides and executions along with medical issues and old age don’t get a warning). When it appears, it can be anywhere. Some see it in the stars, others in pebbles on the beach. One person claimed they saw it in their alphabet cereal, and another saw it in the shoulder tattoo on the girl in front of him in line at the DMV. No one knew this, But Allison saw it in the smoke of the Oni she destroyed, right before the second one stabbed her through the heart.

Stiles, of course, because this is him we’re talking about, sees it lit up in the glamorous marquee of a passing metro bus.

Stiles promptly freaks right the fuck out.

Somehow he manages to drive himself the few remaining blocks to his house before he falls out of the Jeep and pukes in the front yard.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Stiles croaks to himself.

Stiles pulls himself together and sits in the grass, a couple feet from his puddle of vomit, and despairs.

He has so much he wanted to do in life! He’s not even done with high school yet. It’s not fair!

What’s this going to do to his dad? And Derek? And Scott? He can’t leave them! His dad has no one left. Neither does Derek! The pack has already lost so many, he can’t be another loss for them, he can’t!

He’s been sitting there like that for a few minutes when a car pulls up. A familiar blue Toyota with a strawberry blonde at the wheel.

Lydia gets out of the car, takes five steps, sees Stiles and freezes, like she wasn’t expecting to see- Oh. And if that doesn’t just confirm it all.

“Stiles…?” Lydia breathes, uncertain. “I was… I was on my way to Malia’s.” Her eyes scan Stiles, then the house, looking terrified. ”Why am I here?”

Stiles breathes out a heavy sigh. “It’s alright.” He says, calmer than he feels. “There’s no body for you to find, you can relax.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “That’s not how this works Stiles. I don’t just show up for no reason, I find death, and I just found you so tell me what’s going on right now!” Her voice grew higher as she went, ending in a half hysterical shout, tears already forming in her eyes.

Stiles ducks his head, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Did you know, currently, the national average for elapsed time from _Word_ sighting to death is anywhere from one day to one week? That’s about as accurate as they can get it.”

“Stiles” Lydia says.

“Some people, not many but some, have made it over a month,” Sties continues, “and it wasn’t until cellphones that we discovered people can the _Word_ just moments before their demise (that revelation brought the average way down).”

“Stiles!”

“I made it home and out of my car, that’s a huge victory for extending my final moments. That’s the most high risk period you know. I should be thankful I didn’t crash right then and there. But then, the _Word_ itself never causes the incident, so I guess it wouldn’t have appeared unless it knew it wouldn’t change anything by appearing when it appeared.”

“STILES!” Lydia practically shrieks, tears flowing freely now.

“I saw it.” Stiles admits quietly. “I was driving home from Derek’s, and I saw it. The _Word_. I’m gonna die. And soon.”

“ _Stiles_.” Lydia sobs, and collapses at his side, dragging him into her arms as she cries openly on his shoulder. Stiles can think of nothing to do other than hold her close and cry right along with her.

They stay like that, clutching each other on Stiles’ front lawn, crying in the evening sun, for a good fifteen minutes. Finally Stiles pulls himself together and separates himself from Lydia.

“I need to tell the others.” He says to her. All she can do is nod in response.

He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to the pack.

_My house. Right now. Critical._

He doesn’t send it to his dad. No, his dad he calls.

“Vampires?”

“…What?” Stiles chokes.

“Is it Vampires?” John asks.

“I don’t- Dad, what?”

“You’re calling me at work after hanging out with Derek instead of crashing like you normally do. That means something is wrong. Now we’ve already dealt with werewolves, kanimas, demons, and hunters. I’ve been waiting for the inevitable Vampire vs. Werewolf scuffle you see in all the movies and TV shows.”

Stiles can’t help smiling a little at his dad’s ridiculousness. He sombers up quickly though. “No dad, no supernatural showdown in our future. But… something is wrong.”

“Ok. What is it Stiles?” John’s voice gets noticeably tenser.

“I just- I want to tell you in person, but I don’t want to risk something happening before you get here. I-“ Stiles is getting worked up again. “I saw-“

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the lime. “You saw the _Word_ , didn’t you?” John asks, voice wavering.

“Yes.” Stiles manages to sob out.

“I’m on my way. Don’t move! Stay right where you are and don’t touch anything. Don’t go outside, or if you’re outside, don’t go inside. Stay away from anything that could hurt you in any way. I’ll be there soon.”

“Ok.” Stiles breathes. “Dad, I love you. I just need you to know in case…”

“I know son.” John replies softly. “I love you too. You’re my world, and I’m so proud of you. I’ll see you in a second.” Stiles can hear a car door slam on the other end just before he hangs up. He has no doubt his dad will be here before anyone else.

Sure enough, no less than four minutes later, Stiles can hear a siren in the distance. Another minute passes and his dad’s cruiser comes screeching into the driveway. John jumps out without even bothering to turn it off and runs over to Stiles, wrapping him in his arms and holding him tight.

Stiles chuckles despite himself. “I didn’t know it was possible to get from the station to here in five minutes.”

“Anything for you kid,” his dad says behind his ear, hugging him tighter.

They’re still holding each other when Chris and Isaac show up. Upon seeing Stiles and the Sheriff hugging and Lydia silently crying on the grass next to them, Chris raises a questioning eyebrow and Isaac looks worried.

Stiles lets go of his father and motions for Chris and Isaac to go inside. The Sheriff walks them in while Stiles helps Lydia up, then the two of them follow the others inside to wait for the rest.

Twenty minutes later everyone is there. Lydia, John, Isaac, Chris, Derek, Melissa, Scott, Kira, Malia, Ethan, Danny, Deaton, and even Kira’s parents and Peter (oops). All of them crammed into the Stilinski living room. All of them worried, having clearly picked up on Lydia and John’s gloom.

Stiles stood before them all and passed his gaze across them before clearing his throat.

“So,” he started. “First, I just want to apologize to some of you.” Here he looked at Chris, Deaton, Peter, and Kira’s parents. “Some of you didn’t need to come, this isn’t a pack emergency, more a personal one, so I’m sorry for dragging you out here.”

At that, Kira’s parents looked slightly amused, Peter looked offended that he came out here, and Chris and Deaton wore identical masks of unreadability. Peter got up to leave but Derek simply grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him back down, all while never looking away from Stiles.

“Um, anyway,” Stiles went on, voice beginning to shake. “The reason I called you here, is because…” he paused and looked at the worried faces before him, even Peter looked mildly concerned. Mildly. Stiles turned his gaze to Derek, who locked eyes with him. “I’m going to die.”


	2. An Excess of Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles and Derek have a heart-to-heart, Lydia explains the universe, and a plan is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY for the extreeeeemely late update! I swear it won't take another six months for the next chapter!
> 
> Thanks for your support, more to come soon!
> 
> Cheers!

“Care to elaborate?” Argent questions, eyebrow raised.

“I saw _it_ today. The _Word_ ,” Stiles supplies. A mild sense of relief settles over Stiles upon getting the words out, for the rest of the room however, it’s as if the air itself suddenly became solid, trapping them in this moment of horror. The adults in the room wear expressions of shocked remorse and a little pity, save for Peter who looked more like a child who finished all the pages in their coloring book too quickly. Danny, who still wouldn’t admit he enjoyed spending time with Stiles, was staring at the floor and gipping Ethan’s hand like a lifeline; while Ethan himself was clearly more surprised by how bad this news feel than the actual news itself. Isaac and Kira both looked like kicked puppies, with eyes so big and glassy they seemed to have restructured their faces to accommodate them. Malia was an odd combination of bored and sad; it occurs to Stiles that her more animal instincts have probably prepared her for this better than anyone. Scott is almost unbearable to look at; Stiles has only once seen a face of such pure devastation before, and that was the night his father was told his wife had passed and he wasn’t there for her. To see that expression on Scott utterly breaks Stiles’ heart. Melissa doesn’t look much better; to her it’s as if she’s losing a son. And Derek looks...

Derek’s gone.

Stiles can only assume he took it about as badly as he expected and needed to be alone for a minute. A quick glance out the window tells him the Camaro is still parker out front, so at least he’s still around, if not present at the moment. Stiles knows he’ll stay within hearing distance at the very least.

Isaac is the first to break the silence. “Alright, so what do we do?” he asks shakily.

Stiles is momentarily thrown by the question. “We- uh… well… nothing?” he stammer. “It’s the _Word_ man, there’s nothing we can do. I just called you all here to, you know, say my goodbyes and whatnot.”

“That’s unacceptable!” Scott shouts, tears freely streaming down his cheeks, “there’s got to be something we can do!” Melissa moves to sit with him on the couch, clutching him close as he shifts and sobs into her shoulder.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Stilinski is correct,” Deaton says, “this is an instrument of fate; no one can counter it. The _Word_ is witnessed the moment in which its appearance cannot stop events from playing out as they’re meant to. So once it’s been seen, it’s written in stone. All we can do is be thankful we get the chance to say goodbye.”

“He has a point,” Mrs. Yakimura adds, “most do not get the chance to say their goodbyes; most see the sign just moments before their end. In a way, it’s almost a blessing.”

“I don’t care!” Scott sobs form his mother’s shoulder. “We have to do _something_!”

“We are,” Stiles says forcing a little cheer into his voice, “you’re all staying over for dinner, and we’ll make a night of it.”

All eyes are on him again, more than a few with looks of confusion, with Chris and Ethan looking at him like he’s gone crazy.

“Look,” Stiles sighs, “the way I see it I’ve been given an unspecified amount of time to be with the people I care about… and Peter apparently,” at this Peter rolls his eyes, “but I don’t want to spend it moping around and crying on everyone. I want to enjoy these last moments, so that’s what we’re going to do. Besides, we can safely assume I’m not going to die at dinner since none of tonight’s events would be happening if I hadn’t seen the _Word_. As long as I don’t do anything I would normally be doing tonight then we know I’ll be fine.”

Deaton, the Yakimuras, and Chris all exchange skeptical glances with one another, clearly trying to find a flaw in Stiles’ logic.

It’s Lydia who finds her voice and responds. “That’s… actually probably true.”

Stiles claps his hands together. “OK then! Who wants tacos?” he proclaims, wriggling his eyebrows at Melissa. The tension finally drains out of the room as she giggles and everyone starts shuffling about. Even Scott perks up a little.

 

\---*---

 

Once the crowd divvies up tasks to everyone staying, which ends up being everyone but Deaton and Peter, Stiles goes in search of Derek. It only takes him a couple minutes to track him down up in his room, sitting on his bed staring at a framed photograph clutched in his hands.

Stiles knows immediately which picture it is, he only has a couple after all, and most are of him with either his dad, his mom, or Scott. There’s one other picture though, one Melissa had taken just a few weeks ago. One that Stiles thinks perfectly depicts Stiles’ very world.

Six weeks ago, on a particularly beautiful June day, the pack got together for a pickup game of lacrosse. They had broken up into two teams of four, Scott, Stiles, Derek, and Malia, against Isaac, Kira, Danny, and Ethan, while John refed, Melissa, Lydia, and the Yakimuras cheered on the sidelines. The game had been surprisingly close and heated. At the end, in a repeat of the ill-fated game the previous year, Stiles had scored the winning goal for his team at the last second. Scott and Derek were so excited and proud that they hoisted Stiles onto their shoulders and ran around the field, while stiles held his arms up in victory. They did a loop of the field then came back to the crowd where they stopped in front of John so he could give Stiles a high-five. Unknown to any of them, Melissa captured that moment on film. Well, on a data card, but that’s not as poetic.

The picture itself turned out nothing short of perfect in Stiles’ eyes. There’s Stiles, perched between Scott and Derek’s shoulders, the two people he depends on most literally holding him up, gazing up at him, and his dad proudly reaching out to him, brilliant smiles on all their faces. When Melissa showed him the picture he was stunned. One word comes to mind every time he looks at this picture. Just one.

Derek stares down at the picture in his hands, eyes welling with water and unspeakably sad. He’s only ever seen Derek look so broken twice before, first when Boyd died in his arms, and second on that dark night when Stiles went to Derek desperately seeking help. In the months since the Nogitsune he’s grown close to all in the pack, but especially to Stiles and Scott. Stiles knows that when Derek looks at this picture, the same word comes to mind for him. Derek has found a new family in Scott and Stiles, something he never thought he’d have again. And now he’s about to lose yet another member.

He’s so caught up in his sorrow that he didn’t even notice Stiles enter the doorway; a rarity for Derek Hale, even with his recent sense of enduring safety and wellbeing.

Stiles takes a tentative step into the room and clears his gently throat. Derek jerks his head up and quickly palms his eyes, not liking being caught in such a vulnerable state.

“Hey,” Stiles says; cautiously.

Derek just grunts and looks back down at the picture in his hands one more time before setting it back in the bedside table. Stiles moves into the room and sits himself down beside Derek, his hands clasped in his lap.

“So,” Stiles starts, “I probably should have told you in private, huh?”

Derek just snorts lightly, eyes straight ahead and slightly down.

“I’m sorry Derek, I just… I didn’t know how. I wanted everyone to know as quickly as possible, in case…” He can’t finish that sentence. Derek shifts a little, shoulders hunching a little more at what wasn’t said. “And I just couldn’t do it.” He continues silently, almost at a whisper. “I couldn’t do it one on one over and over again and watch everyone react. Especially not you and Scott, or my dad… I told him over the phone.”

Derek’s looking at him now, eyes red and eyebrows concerned.

“And I… I hate that your face is doing that, because you’re clearly in pain. And I hate that I’m the one that caused it. I hate that there’s a kitchen full of people downstairs pretending to be happy for my sake, even though it hurts them too. That my dad is going to be left alone, having to bury his wife and then his son. That Scott is going to lose his brother, and Melissa her almost son.” Tears are freely flowing down Stiles’ face now. “I hate that Chris lost Alisson. And that Malia lost her mother and sister, or that Ethan lost Aiden right when he was redeeming himself. That Isaac lost his mother, and his brother, then got abused by his father before finally losing him too! I hate you got used by a freaking psychopath and lost your whole family! And that you’ll never forgive yourself! I hate Boyd was killed on your own claws against your will! I HATE that we keep losing people no matter how much we try and I don’t want to die and none of this shit is fair!”

He’s bawling now and Derek grabs him and pulls him into his arms and hugs him tight as he finally let’s his emotions go and sobs into Derek’s chest. He stays there for uncounted minutes, crying uncontrollably, as Derek rubs his back and rocks him lightly, silent tears falling down his own cheeks. He can tell by the silence downstairs that the wolves in the kitchen heard everything and aren’t sure what to do. Eventually Melissa sets them back to work preparing the feast, since she knows the best way to cheer Stiles up will be to surround him with food and friends.

Eventually Stiles calms back down and Derek releases him. They both wipe the tears from their faces and return to staring at the wall, side by side.

“You’ll watch out for them, yeah?” Stiles asks. “My dad and Scott?”

“Always,” Derek replies.

“And you’ll let them take care of you?” Stiles asks, turning to face Derek.

Derek doesn’t respond, just looks down at his hands.

“Please, Derek! I know you’re instincts will be to watch out for everyone without sparing a single thought for yourself, just like always, but you can’t do that. That’s not a way to live Derek and eventually it’ll destroy you, and you can’t let that happen! I want you to let them take care of you, Derek. I want you to get an apartment with Isaac and Malia, and have dinner with Scott, Melissa, and my dad every week. I want you to go game hunting with Chris and Isaac, to play games with Danny and Ethan. To have in depth debates about great authors with Lydia, and go on double dates with Scott and Kira and whomever you desire for yourself. I want you to be happy, Derek. Please, tell me you’ll do this. For me.”

Derek takes a calming breath, still staring at his hands. “Alright,” he breathes out. “I will.”

 

\---*---

 

“Considering all the facts we have so far, your… fate… is probably independent of location,” Lydia states in the middle of dinner.

Everyone freezes, a couple with food halfway to their mouths. Stiles speed chews the oversized bite he just took and quickly, and prematurely, swallows, scraping his throat with multiple taco shell shards like miniature daggers.

“Uh, what?” Stiles winces. Beside him, Derek scowls at Lydia, while Scott on his other side looks on confusedly. The rest of the group watches silently, morbidly curious what Lydia is about to explain.

“Well, as Deaton and Mrs. Yakimura said earlier, the _Word_ is only ever seen when its witnessing cannot inspire a change in the person that would lead them to change their routine and thus avoid their fate; and most of the time, that threshold is reached just moments before the event. If someone were meant to die in a plane crash, and they saw the _Word_ plastered on the boarding gate, then they would immediately turn around and go home, this avoiding their fate, so they never see it until they are in the air.

“You saw the _Word_ while driving, and yet didn’t die in the car, or in the hours after. You have every opportunity to leave the house and never come back, or camp out in the McCall’s back yard and never leave, none of which you would have done before seeing the _Word_. This drives me to the conclusion it doesn’t matter where you go or what you do, you’ll meet your end regardless. No matter where you are.”

“So what are you saying, exactly?” John asks. “He’s going to get struck by some all-encompassing force that spans the entire region? Like some giant disaster that claims one victim?”

“Unlikely, but not impossible,” Lydia considers. “Though, technically we don’t actually know if Stiles is the only one to have seen the _Word_. There could be others, both now and in the time leading up to the event. We can assume that since he’s the only one of us to have seen it, then we either aren’t with him when it happens or he’s the only one to die from it. All we can say for sure, is that even if we can correctly guess the cause, we can’t prevent it.”

Mrs. Yakimura hums her agreement. “I believe you are correct. Us knowing that Stiles has seen the _Word_ drastically affects our behaviors. We would not be gathered as we are now if not for this knowledge, so we can say with certainty that this house is not about to be destroyed with us all in it.”

“I agree with what you’re saying,” Stiles says, “but I have my own theory of how this might play out. We know that the mode and the time of the event cannot be changed, but apparently location can. But I don’t think that means that it’s some giant city-wide event. I think it means the mode is always fluid in its location, it’s just that there’s usually only one available location. You follow?”

“Not really,” Chris drawls.

“Ok, so the way I see it, most of these events are one off things. Like, if you die in a plane crash, that one can’t really change because you have to be on that specific plane with those specific people, so you really can’t see the _Word_ ahead of time and die in an alternate plane crash somewhere else but at the same time. But, if you die in a random mugging in New York City, you see the _Word_ days in advance and completely change your routine so you’re at the opposite side of the city, but still get mugged by a random thug. Same mode, same time, different place.”

The table is silent once more, everyone wearing expressions of deep contemplation, trying to find a flaw in his logic. Most are troubled by the implications he may be right.

“You’re not wrong,” Mrs. Yakimura says, “as far as I can tell. But it’s impossible to know if that’s true or not. The minutia of the _Word_ and its mechanisms are poorly understood, and probably always will be. It’s just too difficult and taboo to test theories like this.”

“It’s a fascinating concept,” Lydia adds. “Like you say most events have no available alternatives, and so it’s always been assumed every detail of the event is set in stone. But your theory makes it much more flexible and suggest fate plays a bigger role in manipulating events than previously thought.”

Derek lets out an aggravated huff. “So basically, all we’ve figured out is Stiles is going to die anywhere, by anything, at any time?” He glares down at his still mostly untouched tacos.

“Not at all,” Lydia replies eyes meeting Stiles’, a grin growing on her lips. “We know Stiles won’t die for at least a couple days.”

“What?” Scott exclaims, eyes bulging. “We do?!”

“Yup,” Stiles states happily. The rest of the group looks back and forth between them, clearly not understanding what they missed. Well, all except Mrs. Yakimura.

“I’m confused,” Kira says. “How do we know that?”

“Easy,” Lydia explains, “we simply make sure Stiles is somewhere no one else can get to, and make sure he’s never left alone. That will eliminate the variable of random outside influences and if he’s never alone then we know mass casualty type events can’t happen. We can’t keep him secluded long term, but considering we can do it, it all but guarantees that the event doesn’t happen for several days anyway.”

“Ok. So… where are we going then?” Danny asks.

Stiles smirks. “Lydia’s lake house obviously.”


	3. Unexpected Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds himself somewhere he's never been with someone he's never met.

Stiles is surrounded by dense fog. He doesn’t know where he is, but he can just make out the shape of trees surrounding him through the mist; so he’s in a forest, apparently. He does a slow turn, but can’t discern any path or distinguishing features around him. The forest, what he can see of it anyway, is lush and thick, filled with ancient trees too tall to see their canopies through the grey fog. And it’s silent. More silent than any forest should ever be. Not a single creature can be heard anywhere; no snapping twigs, no calling birds, not even the ever-present hum of the wind heard in every forest Stiles has ever been to. Though the mist is flowing like thick molasses, there air is still; not even a ghost of a breeze. The air itself feels heavy, like the fog is some immense blanket, surrounding Stiles in its cool embrace.

Though both the fog and the trees are quite thick, it’s not as dark as Stiles thinks it should be. The fog is illuminated by a directionless white light that casts everything in a brightness usually seen out in the open on an overcast summer day. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this is no normal forest. Despite the unnerving nature of the wood, Stiles isn’t scared or nervous, in fact he’s extremely calm, like he could live in here for the rest of time completely uncaring for the outside world. Shrugging to himself, he starts walking, curiosity building.

He walks for how long, he doesn’t know, it feels as if he’s left time behind. Eventually he finds himself at a large pond, maybe thirty feet across, and unnaturally circular. It isn’t fed by any visible stream, and since there’s no wind to speak of, the surface is so perfectly calm it could be made of glass and even more reflective. Stiles kneels at the pond’s shore and gazes down at himself reflected in the mirror-like water. The cool light of the fog accentuates his usual pale complexion to the point he looks almost ghostly. It’s then that he notices he’s wearing simple dark jeans and black Henley; not his usual choice, but he does in fact own them. It just contributes to the notion that if it weren’t for the green of the ferns and the red of his lips, he’d be convinced he was suddenly living in black and white.

He reaches out his hand and dips it in the pool, it’s cool, but not icy cold like he was expecting. In fact it’s just about the same temperature as the air, so close that if he weren’t watching he probably wouldn’t even know his hand was in water. He swishes his hand around and watches the ripples slowly spread across the surface. His eyes are following the largest ripples flow to the other end until they reach the opposite shore. Stiles gasps. There, head held high and standing motionless, a large black wolf stares directly at him.

Stiles has never seen a wolf in person, only on the TV and online through research so his opinion may be a little skewed, but he thinks this is the most beautiful wolf he’s ever seen. It’s large, larger than most wolves tend to be, with thick, glossy black fur lightly covered in a tiny water droplets from the mist. The entirety of the wolf’s fur is black, save for a light dusting of grey around its snout and eyes. Eyes, which show a deep intelligence beyond what any wolf should ever possess.

Stiles stands and slowly makes his way around the pond to stand before the wolf. When he reaches the other side and stops a few feet in front of the majestic wolf he bows his head. He’s not terribly surprised when the wolf returns the gesture, knowing eyes meeting his.

The wolf turns and walks into the woods. Stiles watches it go until it stops just before it would have disappeared into the fog. It turns its head to Stiles and stares at him again. Taking the hint, Stiles nods his head and sets off to follow the wolf.

They walk in amiable silence; the soft padding of the wolf’s feet and the heavy thumps of Stiles’ the only sounds to be heard. Immeasurable time passes, both brief and an eternity, while they weave in and out of the trees before eventually Stiles notices the trees part and they enter a clearing. A few yards in and the trees vanish in the fog behind them leaving Stiles alone with the wolf, the fog, and the grass beneath their feet.

Another few yards and he notices a large shadow looming ahead of them. As their progress brings them closer the shadow takes shape and he finds the Hale house emerging from the mist. Except it’s the house as he’s never seen it before. It’s as it was before the fire that brought down Derek’s world.

Stiles stops before the house and takes it in; the elegant windows whole and unbroken, the spacious porch open and inviting, the crisp white siding clean and unmarred. He’d always known that the Hales were a large family and were very keen on order and appearance, but seeing the house like this stirs a deep sorrow in Stiles as he once again sees a peek at how much Derek lost. How many happy memories did Derek form here with his sisters? With his parents? No wonder he was never able to fix it. Letting it get torn down was probably for the best; he’d never be able to move forward with that constant reminder of his past haunting him.

Stiles’ gaze drops back down to the porch where the wolf sits, watching Stiles. A tear slides down his cheek and the wolf rears its head back and releases a mournful howl. It lowers its head and looks to Stiles, then its eyes flash red.

Stiles can’t help the sharp intake of breath. “Oh. Ok,” he says, “so, not Derek then.”

He wakes up in his bed when a sleeping Scott shifts next to him and knees him in the gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad y'all liked the last chapter, it gives me motivation to keep going!!
> 
> I just moved across the state recently, so that's why this part took a little longer to get up than expected. But I'm kinda in the groove now so this should get wrapped up at a fair pace now, I want to finish it just as much as you want it finished :)


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